


we're just (hollow men)

by haumea (136108)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/136108/pseuds/haumea
Summary: When Shiro opened the door to his quarters, Adam was sitting on his bed.He only needed to take one look at the packed duffel bag next to him to know it was over.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	we're just (hollow men)

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you have read my other work, you'll realize that this is just one scene from one of my other works, which is now orphaned and discontinued. I'm no longer really a fan of Voltron since the series ended, but this is just my take on how Adam and Shiro might have broken up before season one. I wanted to keep this up because you don't need the context of the orphaned work, and because I like this writing!

When Shiro opened the door to his quarters, Adam was sitting on his bed. He only needed to take one look at the packed duffel bag next to him to know it was over. He took a deep breath—in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Adam didn’t look up when he entered; he just kept staring at his hands, which were clasped in his lap.

“I suppose you’re here to finally tell me that you got accepted for the Kerberos mission,” Adam said quietly.

Shiro nodded, not quite sure what to say. He knew that Adam had known for a while, but it had taken him a good amount of time to work up the courage to actually bring it up to him in person. “…And you’re here to tell me that you’re moving out,” he ventured, after a few seconds of dead silence.

“Yes.” Adam took a deep breath, and raised his head to make eye contact with him calmly. “We both knew this was coming.”

They’d known it for a long time. Shiro couldn’t even remember the last time they had slept in the same bed; for the past several days, Adam had been staying out later and later under the pretense of grading. Shiro wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Adam actually had all of that work, but it was easier just to accept it at face value. He didn’t have enough energy for a real argument; he hadn’t for a long time. Even now, he didn’t feel much. He knew he should probably be upset; should probably be crying or yelling or begging Adam to stay. It said so much about what their relationship had come to that he couldn’t bring himself to do any of those things.

The silence stretched on for several minutes, during which they each avoided eye contact. “I was never going to give up my dreams and change my life plans,” Shiro eventually whispered. “You know, that, right?”

“I’ve known that since the day I met you.” Adam looked up at him with a sad little smile. “And I was never going to spend my life waiting here on the ground for you.”

Shiro took a few steps forward, just enough that he could lower himself into the armchair by the window in the corner of the room, facing the bed.

He swallowed, and said, “I’m sad that it has to end like this.”

“But not sad that it has to end,” Adam said, laughing quietly. “I get what you mean. Though I’m glad we aren’t yelling at each other.”

At least if they were yelling at each other, it would mean that they cared. Anger would be better than this resigned numbness that had started at the base of his spine and was spreading to the very tips of his fingers and toes. “How did this happen?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. It seemed wrong to break the silence in the room. It felt as if they were at a funeral, mourning the inevitable death of their relationship. It had been dying slowly, agonizingly, and silently for months, but now that it was finally dead there was still no relief. Only emptiness. “We were so in love.”

When he looked up, Adam had closed his eyes. “I was going to marry you someday,” he said. “Did you know that?”

Shiro desperately wished he could feel something, anything, at that revelation. “No,” he said, wetting his lips. “I didn’t.”

Adam laughed again. “Yeah, I figured. I guess it’s a good thing I never asked.”

He didn’t sound sad; just tired. Shiro felt the same way. He wasn’t sure at what point their relationship had started to die; he had a feeling that it had started long before he’d started training for the Kerberos mission. This much damage couldn’t be done in just a few months’ time; it had to have been there from the start, silent and unnoticed, until it slowly began to grow. It was like a tumor; they didn’t notice it until it was too late to cut it out or to treat it. By the time Shiro realized, there was nothing to do except watch their relationship die. He had seen the train wreck coming in slow motion—so slow that by the time the train actually hit him, he was so resigned to the fact that he felt nothing at the impact.

“I do still love you,” Adam offered. “But not in the way that either of us want or need.”

“I know,” Shiro said. “A part of me will always love you, too.”

“I know.”

Shiro glanced around the room. “You don’t have to move out, if you don’t want to,” he said. “There won’t be any use for this place after the launch.” I won’t be here, he doesn’t say. You won’t have to see my things or look at my face.

Adam sighed, and stood up. Shiro stood with him, unsure of what to do. His hands rested at his sides limply as Adam slung the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. “I think you know why I can’t stay here,” Adam said softly. He was still dry-eyed; both of them were. “I’m going to be staying with Maria; she teaches the year below the one I do.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shiro said. “I understand.”

And he did. This place was filled with far too many memories, of times towards the beginning of their relationship when every moment was full of wonder and novelty. When both of them were still overwhelmed with the depths of their feelings for each other, with the joy of new love and of first times. They had shared a bed for the first time within these walls; had helped each other through nightmares and insecurities and illness. The brightness of their emotions and their memories had painted vivid rainbows over these walls in Shiro’s mind; now all he could see was a muted gray, their joint resignation and exhaustion sapping up all of the colors. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to bring himself to live out his last few weeks on earth in this place.

In a way, he was glad that Adam had been the one to initiate it. For the past few months, they’d been playing an awful game of chicken, stretching their relationship out further and further, both of them trying to avoid being the one to bring it up. Shiro had resolved himself to breaking up with Adam after delivering the news about Kerberos; but Adam had saved him from that by being ready to go before Shiro even opened his mouth.

“When do you launch?” Adam asked, even though they both already knew.

Shiro was grateful to him for having broken the silence. “Eighteen days. Will I see you before then?”

Adam gave him a tired smile and shook his head. “Probably not.”

It was nothing he hadn’t already known, but it was still hard to hear. He might not be sad that they were ending, but Adam had still been a friend for many years and was still dear to him. He forced himself to nod. “Right.”

“So this is goodbye for us.”

“Yes. It is.”

They didn’t hug; it would have been both too much and not enough at that point. Instead, they lapsed into silence until Adam broke their eye contact to move past Shiro. He didn’t turn to follow him, to see him out; Adam knew his way, and they had nothing left to say to each other. In his wake, the room somehow seemed bigger and emptier than before. Shiro wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, and ended up sitting back down in the armchair. His gaze wandered around the room, before coming to idly land on the empty space on the bed where Adam had just been sitting. As he sat, the silence in the room expanded and became oppressive, blanketing everything until it felt that there was nothing left.


End file.
